


Inhale, Breathe Steady, Exhale

by Weyyeylarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Heaps of fluff, I AM SORRY, I don't know, I might make a second one, M/M, There is no smut, This is just something really silly and cute, louis is an ass, pretty! Harry, this has nothing to do with Louis and Harry's tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weyyeylarry/pseuds/Weyyeylarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's just about to turn the corner and head back to his flat when he stops dead in his tracks, eyes zeroing in on a  bright red glass box stuck to the wall. Clearly written in big bold white writing is: INCASE OF LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. BREAK GLASS. He blinks at the rose sitting behind the glass and sips his tea. What the fuck. Someone has literally glued a glass box to a wall with a rose in it. Okay. He squints at it, sips his tea again, squints harder, and then promptly runs back to his flat. </p><p>[or the one where Louis is a cynical asshole and doesn't believe in love at first sight, and then harry comes along]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhale, Breathe Steady, Exhale

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> My apologies from being the most distant little shit in all of the world. I've been soooooooooooo busy with my new book it's ridiculous. I can't seem to write anything other than that. Every time I try I keep writing Tyler.... Tyler.... It's making me go crazy. S.O.S  
> Anyway. This is some little stupid thing that I wrote to keep you all occupied. The prompt is the picture attached. Enjoy. Love. Enjoy more. Leave comments, tell me what you think! Amazing. Wonderful, thank you. Lots of love.  
> Also, I still like writing Zayn in my fics so... yeah.  
> Title is from Happily Ever After by He Is We. If you haven't listen to them, do. They're so cute. 
> 
> also i apologise for my lack of liam ... he's like not in it at all and i don't actually have an excuse other than i forGOT I AM SO SORRY

 

Louis fucking hates winter.

He hates it. He despises it, even. He wants to take it, bring it to the very bottom pits of hell and let it burn there. He wants to watch it waste away while he sits back on a beach chair in the Bahamas, sipping on a banana cocktail or some kind of relaxing type of shit. He  _ doesn’t  _ want to be trudging through the freezing cold at seven in the morning just to get coffee for his beloved house mate.

 

“I’m craving, Louis  _ please, _ ” Zayn had said while he crawled under Louis' covers about twenty minutes ago. Zayn can fuck off, really. 

Louis could happily give him something else to crave—perhaps his foot up his arse. That, would be a lovely sight. _But,_ it in fact, _is_ his coffee day. So, he didn't actually tell Zayn to fuck off and never speak to him again until he is old, withering and dying. No, he just hauled himself out of bed, tripped over the mounds of books and papers and a load of other shit that has been scattered over his bedroom floor until he managed to find his glasses somewhere in the mess, and trudged out of the flat at an ungodly hour in the morning _without_ his daily dose of tea. So, he allows himself this small amount of time to walk to the coffee shop, curse about Zayn under his breath and list every single possible way he could pull off a creative murder _without_ getting caught.

He's very much leaning towards the wood chipper idea.

It's not like he particularly hates getting coffee for Zayn this early on a Sunday morning, it's just that, he really fucking hates getting coffee for Zayn this early on a Sunday morning. That, and the fact that he despises winter so much he could write a three thousand page essay on it. He could write every single reason he hates the cold, the white, and in particular; the jolliness of the entire load of crap. Who even created winter? Louis wants to kill whoever it was, or whatever it was. He still wants to kill it.

He also hates the colour white, and in winter, the entire God damned city is covered with it. Zayn had said while sipping his cup of tea three weeks ago, a paintbrush in hand, that “it’s the colour that brings people  _ together  _ Louis . It brings people  _ together,”  _ but, he really doesn’t want to be brought together with anyone except his exceptionally large comfy bed and a hot cuppa. So, it’s going to be a shit day, Louis has decided. Because really, when you’re out of bed on a Sunday morning, a coat wrapped around you and wellies on your feet while you kick off the snow, it is just  _ bound  _ to be complete and utter shit.  
Louis stands outside the coffee shop around the block from his building, right in the heart of London. He stares at the broken sign above the door and watches as an old man walks out, slamming the door behind him. The C in cafe falls to the ground and shatters in the snow. 

Classy.

“I,” Louis blows a large breath of air into his cupped hands, “am going to burn you down. I will burn you down to the ground and laugh while the senior citizens of the city cry because their favourite shitty coffee shop has been incinerated to dust. I hate you. I want you to die. Fuck  _ you. _ ”

“Do you often talk to buildings? Or is it just this one in general?” A bitter Irish accent startles Louis and he jumps slightly before he turns around, a beaming smile plastered on the guys face.  
_ Niall,  _ of course. 

“Do not think for a second, I will not murder you as well, Niall,” which, actually, he  _ wouldn't _ . Mainly because Niall and Louis have been friends since Louis knew how to walk—well, more like waddle, really. Louis was hopeless at everything when he was below the age of five, according to his mother. She also calls him boo-bear up until this day, so, he doesn't really listen to her. He doesn't tell anyone about this though. Not even his cousins. He fucking hates his cousins. Anyway, Louis would rather keep Niall around for a bit longer rather than slaughtering him, so yeah, he'd rather just burn the fucking building if he's honest. 

“Oh come on, Lou. It isn't  _ that  _ bad,” Niall claps Louis on the back and he splutters from the contact and his cold hands. 

“Not that bad? Not  _ that bad _ ? What happened to you? What's wrong with you? Do you need to be like, checked for brain problems or something? Were you dropped on your head? Did you sniff too much paint? God I thought I  _ told  _ you to stop doing that!”  
Niall's laugh has always been loud. It's one thing that Louis admires and also really fucking hates about him. It's a full blown cackle, almost like a hyaena. Louis needs to stop being so cynical all the time. He also really doesn't fucking care what he needs to do. He glares at Niall. There's snow seeping into his sweat pants. 

“Come on man, let’s get these cuppa’s,” Niall grabs Louis' arm and lurches Louis forward and through the front door of the cafe. That’s the great thing about Niall, he doesn’t linger on anything for too long. He isn’t like Zayn who will sit him down (more like tie him down) and make him spill his guts on anything and everything.  It gets worse when Louis goes away for Christmas break and comes back to Zayn sitting in a corner of the flat crying because he didn’t perfect his last painting, but  _ still _ . 

Louis and Niall walk into the cafe together, the door slams shut behind them and a bell rings through the worn down shop. On the left are a selection of vintage chairs and lounges that old people usually sit on and drink their early morning tea with the paper gripped in their hands. On the right is a selection of actual table and chair sets for civilised people, and in front is the famous checkout bar where there is a young brunette sporting too much makeup for seven in the morning, and has a face that clearly shows how much she  _ really  _ doesn’t want to be where she is right now. Louis can’t blame her. He wouldn’t either. 

“So, any word then? On the uh, thing,” Niall asks as they make their way to the girl who is snapping her gum in her mouth.

“The thing?” Louis raises an eyebrow at Niall.

“I totally forgot what it was I’m sorry. The thing you applied for, shit what was it again?” Niall pinches the bridge of his nose and Louis laughs softly. Okay so maybe Niall is a little bit cute. Sometimes.

“No, there has been no word on the  _ thing _ . Which I take it as an opportunity to say: congratulations, Louis, you have failed yet again, woo, party time, woo,” Louis gestures pathetic dance movements and Niall cackles, literally, full blown  _ cackles. _ Again. Who even cackles this early in the morning? Niall, that’s who.

“Louis, mate,” he says after he’s wiped his eyes. “You have not  _ failed,  _ I bet you anything that you got in. Anything.”

Louis wishes he was right, so he can’t really do anything except for shrug slightly and make his way to the girl who finally manages to pull a smile.

“Caramel Latte and a cup of Yorkshire with a dash of milk. No sugar. I hate sugar. Don't fuck up the sugar.” He gets straight to it. The girl seems relieved.

“Eight pound fifty.”

He hands her the money. The thing is though, Louis knows he isn’t like, biased or anything. Really he knows that quite fucking well, but it’s just. Well, it’s just he thought he was finally good at something. And you know, the way he sees it is, if he doesn’t get in clearly he’s just,  _ not. _ He knows quite well that’s not the way to go about life—getting shot down once and never looking back. Louis has never really been that person, but, he’s had so many failed attempts at everything he’s ever tried to do, that he doesn’t think he could handle another failure. Even though this time, this time for sure, he is positive this is his passion.

 

Louis has tried everything though, he went through phases of “oh I want to do this for the rest of my life” and even went as far as starting a band at sixteen and thinking they were the biggest top shots. They really couldn’t sing at all, he knew that though. But, other than that Louis had varied from a lot of things in his young twenty two years. He’s gone from wanting to be a pop star, to wanting to be on Broadway so he could be the main attraction in the world’s biggest performances, just so that he could just have his name  _ known. _ When both of those completely failed, he tried for a football star. That didn’t happen either. Next was the fashion industry—which was,  _ well _ . It didn’t work out. Louis is absolutely atrocious at sewing. So, then he wallowed all the way down to the very bottom and studied to teach drama and completely, in the easiest way possible,  _ hated  _ it. He  _ loved  _ drama, absolutely adored it, but teaching it to other people? He assumed cutting his own eyes out would be kinder.

And now he is here. He studied teaching for two years and landed himself  _ here— _ waking up at seven in the morning just to get coffee for his well earned best mate who has a successful career already lined up in front of him. He isn’t jealous though. No way in hell, he could never in a million years be  _ jealous  _ of Zayn. He just, well, he just wishes everything had worked out for him too. 

So he is here, waking up every day and biting his nails to the bud and staring and refreshing his email inbox, and checking the post box every two hours—just  _ waiting _ . A month ago, Louis applied for the  _ most  _ prestigious writing school in the whole of London. He’s just been waiting for a reply ever since, and as the days drag on, the more he fears that it just isn’t going to work. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens. He’s kind of terrified to say the least – but he won’t tell anyone else that. He’d never tell anyone else that. Louis and Niall both receive their drinks, the clerk kindly giving a cardboard holder for Zayns and his own. Nice enough, but not necessary, mainly because Louis is very much considering just  _ throwing  _ the coffee at Zayn instead of allowing him to drink it. No, it is absolutely not because he is out too early, it is because as soon and Niall and Louis walk out, the temperature drops even _ lower _ and Louis makes a plan to stand in front of a car and let nature take its course. 

“Alright mate, I’ll catch you later, okay?” Niall pulls Louis in for a hug when step out of the shop.  
Louis wishes he was paying attention to everything Niall was saying. He can blame Niall for  _ that  _ though, because if he hadn’t mentioned the  _ thing _ , he wouldn’t have even thought about it until at least—at best—noon. He waves goodbye to Niall and takes a sip of his tea. No sugar. Good, just the way he likes it. He should go back and tip the girl for listening, no one ever listens to him when he clearly states  _ I  _ hate _ sugar _ . 

  
He's just about to turn the corner and head back to his flat when he stops dead in his tracks, eyes zeroing in on a bright red glass box stuck to the wall. Clearly written in big bold white writing is: INCASE OF LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. BREAK GLASS. He blinks at the rose sitting behind the glass and sips his tea. What the  _ fuck.  _ Someone has literally glued a glass box to a wall with a rose in it. Okay. He squints at it, sips his tea again, squints harder, and then promptly runs back to his flat. 

***

Louis walks up the stairs of their rundown building slowly. There is absolutely no reason to rush. Not at all. He's already done his running for the year. He'd like to send an award to the box on the wall for freaking him the fuck out. Why do people just _do_ that? When will people realise love doesn't _exist_? If Zayns coffee just happens to get cold in the process of him walking up the stairs, then so be it. He slams the door closed behind him when he’s inside, throws the keys and his phone on the kitchen counter and slips off his snow covered wellies. Maybe he should just bin them instead.  Louis walks through the apartment and into the living room, he cranks up the heating a new notches, cracks his neck and scrubs a hand down his face—the drinks still securely in his other hand.

“Louis! Did you bring me coffee?” Zayn calls from Louis' bedroom. So, he didn’t move then. Good, his bed will be warm now.

“Yes you fucking minion, love me,” Louis pads into the bedroom and sets his coffee down next to Zayns cocooned body. He pushes Zayns fringe out of his face and places a sloppy kiss on his forehead just to piss him off. Zayn just smiles though, so.

“I love you, come, sleep,” Zayn pulls up the blanket and Louis cocks his head to the side.

“You realise you’re in  _ my  _ bed.” He just grins solemnly.  
So, Louis doesn’t really hesitate. Not when he’s freezing his bollocks off and Zayn has created a nice, warm place for him to fall back into. He loves Zayn sometimes. He also hates Zayn sometimes too, like this morning, but he just still really loves Zayn. He has to love Zayn though, because without him he’d probably be stuck at home back in Bradford, ripping his own hair out while the twins screamed at each other for stealing one of the other’s fucking Barbie dolls or for accidentally slicing off the other’s pony tail. So he falls onto the bed and lets Zayn wrap the blanket around both of them and pull him a bit closer to himself. Louis doesn’t even skip a beat when Zayn wraps his arm around his torso and nuzzles himself into all of Louis. 

***

“Lou,” Zayn says while he closes the front door behind him. He’s wearing a cream knit sweater, sweats, socks and he looks so  _ comfy _ . Louis turns around and bites into a piece of toast with too much strawberry jam smothered over it. 

“What do you want from me?” He says while he chews through the maybe burnt toast. It’s definitely burnt—he won’t tell Zayn that though. Zayns eyebrows are pulled together while he flicks through the mail.

“You have some mail,” he pads over to Louis and hands him three letters.

“It’s just bills you know, it is always just bills. It’s never not bills.” Louis sets down his toast, wipes his hands, and starts to open the letters. First one is the water bill, which, he doesn’t even bother to read. He just chucks it over to the sink and well, if it just so happens to get soiled by water, then it totally was  _ not  _ Louis' fault. The second is the power bill, he doesn’t read that either, and the third? The third is definitely, not a bill. Louis hands start to shake while he reads the first line.

_Dear Mr. Tomlinson,_

Mr. Tomlinson, how fancy.

_We have come to notice the recent submission you have entered as an application piece to represent your ability in the field of creative writing, was exceptional._

Okay, shit.

_We would like to inform you that with great joy, we would like to accept you to attend our university._

Oh god.

_Congratulations on your achievement! We very much look forward to working with you and are more than excited to see how your abilities become tested throughout the 18 month course duration. Please fill out the enrolment form attached below._

_We are very thrilled to work with such talent._

And,  _ well _ . Louis swallows down the rest of his toast and drops the letter to the kitchen counter. He brings his hands up and grips the edge tightly. Did that just? Did that just happen? Did he just get  _ accepted _ ? 

“Louis? You okay?” Zayn asks when he comes back into the kitchen. He’s eyebrows are pulled together—concern is etched all over his face but Louis doesn’t care right now. How could he  _ possibly  _ care right now when that just happened? Did that just happen? It just happened. Louis looks up at Zayn and fucking _ beams _ . His smile is so wide he’s afraid his face might split in two. 

“Zayn, I just got fucking  _ accepted! _ I got fucking accepted!” 

“You  _ what _ ?” Zayn blanches, his eyes blow wide and Louis pushes off from the counter. 

“Holy mother of God they want me to attend the university!”  
Zayn drops the rest of the mail to the floor and bolts straight for Louis. He wraps his arms around him tightly and picks him up.

“Congratu-fucking-lations man!” He shouts in Louis' ear and Louis tries with everything he has to hold back tears, but, he fails, because he just got fucking  _ accepted _ .  
For the first time in the history of ever, Louis has been accepted. Louis is going to university –  _ Uni-fucking-versity.  _ This shit doesn’t happen in real life, Louis supposes. This just doesn’t happen. He’s going to the most prestigious writing school in the whole of fucking London—to study what he absolutely loves, and this has to be a test from God or something, because this just doesn’t happen. Not to Louis, anyway. 

***

“That was absolutely awful. Worst thing ever, I want to die, Zayn, please, _please_ , come up with a creative way to let me just _die?_ ” Louis says when he slams the front door behind him and takes a seat on the stool pushed against the kitchen counter.  
Zayn pauses shoving his piece of margarita pizza in his mouth and stares at him with his mouth open, shrugs and shoves half of it into his mouth. Beside him, Niall cackles, makes a stupid comment about how “Zayn is total shit at eating” then he takes a piece and shoves the entire thing into his mouth, smiling through it. Zayn shakes his head and turns back to Louis.

“Why?”

“The people there are absolutely fucking  _ genius’ _ Zayn. They’re so smart. Do you know how out of place I felt walking through that place with all these pretentious bastards walking past me with god damned  _ suits  _ on. SUITS!” He lets his head fall into his hands and allows the sound of a groan to fill the room. Maybe if he slams his head against the table enough times he’ll die.  
It’s not like Louis isn’t as smart as them, it’s just, well he’s not as smart as them. He knows how to dress though, so he didn’t look that out of place, what with his freshly ironed pair of trousers, collared shirt and a nice set of braces on. The dress shoes worked too. So, he looked good, he styled his hair and kept it completely windswept the entire day, made sure his glasses were securely on his face, and tried not to trip and make a fool of himself. He succeeded. 

“It couldn’t have been that bad, plus it was your first day, so,” Louis looks up to where Niall is staring at him, talking through his mouthful of pizza.

“No one asked you, go away. I want to cry.”

“Sometimes I think this may be the most depressing place in the entire city. What with you moping around like the entire world hates you.” Niall mumbles.

“The entire world doesn’t _ hate _ me Niall, the entire world  _ loves  _ me. There is a difference.”  
Next to Louis foot, his cat’s tail wraps around him. Louis pushes off the seat and collapses to the ground, allowing his beloved cat to crawl up and lay on his chest. 

“Hey buddy,” Louis says and runs his hand through the brown fur. Louis loves his cat. Absolutely fucking adores him. He’s better than Zayn ... and Niall, and everyone else in the world for that matter. He’s just the best.

“Why did you name him Vincent Van Furball?” Niall says from the table, “You have actually never explained that.”  Louis just groans.

“It was creative, okay?”

“It’s fucking torturous. That cat probably curses the day it was accepted into this house.”

“I’m in agreement with Niall,” Zayn says loudly and Louis shoots up and points a finger at him.

“No, no that is  _ not o _ kay. Who was the one who suggested we called him fucking  _ Dingleberry _ ? You.”

“Dingleberry is  _ so _ much better than Vincent Van fuckerball,” Niall says.

“FURBALL, Niall,  _ furball.” _

“ F uckerball sounds a little remotely better.”

“I hate you all, really, I curse the day you were both born,” Louis stands and walks out of the kitchen leaving both of the boys laughing behind him. Vincent Van Furball follows behind him when Louis walks into to bedroom and closes the door behind him. “You don’t hate it do you?” He asks the cat while he throws his bag onto the bed, “If you do tell me.”

He’s probably losing his mind. He knows cats can’t talk back, but, well, you know. He can always  _ try _ . It’s not like Vincent Van Furball is the  _ worst  _ name for a cat in the world. It’s just Louis doesn’t do anything half asses and he takes naming animals very seriously. When Vincent showed up on his door step a year ago and Louis decided to feed it, it kind of just stuck around so he claimed it as his own and spent two weeks trying to think of a creative name for it. “Kitty,” just wasn’t working for him. Plus, Vincent Van Furball is  _ definitely  _ better than naming him Albus Dumbledoor – which, he can blame his small obsession phase with Harry Potter for that one. Zayn talked him out of it, said it was like, copy write or some shit which absolutely made no sense to Louis because he can, in fact, name his cat whatever the hell he wants to name him and if he  _ really  _ wanted too (which he did) he could have definitely named him Albus. But he didn’t. So, there’s that.  
Louis takes his time removing his clothes off of him and changing into a comfortable pair of sweats, cute socks (he takes pride in never wearing socks unless it is completely necessary, and house socks are important so, he buys the nicest ones with cute patterns on them, but, yeah) and an oversized sweater. He takes a seat on his bed, pulls out his laptop, and judges every single person posting a facebook status about their personal life. 

***

Louis taps his foot impatiently as he waits. He has his first lecture in approximately twenty minutes. The cafe at the university sucks ass, so he's here, at the same coffee shop around the corner from his flat,  _ and  _ a twenty five minute walk to the uni. He's going to have to speed walk. Louis  _ doesn't _ speed walk. The clock is ticking down, he ordered his tea five minutes ago and they  _ still _ haven't started it. So, yes he is absolutely and undeniably furious. He has every right to be, not only was the girl with an obnoxiously loud voice who was serving him, completely rude, but he’s going to be late. Louis hates being late, if there is anything he hates more than winter it is being late. He doesn’t show it on his face though—he keeps it cool, keeps it natural. In his mind, he’s standing in the doorway with a flamethrower laughing hysterically as he sets the place on fire. 

“Come  _ on _ ,” he huffs out under his breath and bites his nails.

“Number 61?” The girl yells and Louis leaps forward, thanking her and taking his tea. He tugs his leather bound shoulder bag, over his shoulder and hurries out the door, apologising to the few people he bumps into on his way out. As soon as he is out the door, he turns around and stares at the broken sign. So, what's a few more minutes?

“I don't understand why I bother with you.” Louis says to the shop. “First, I have to get out of bed at ungodly hour, now, you're making me late. And  _ now,  _ i'm standing here, making myself more late, talking to a fucking sign.” He takes a sip of his tea and then groans. “And there's  _ sugar  _ in my tea!” 

“Do you often talk to buildings, or is today just an exception?” An amused voice asks from behind him. Louis nearly jumps out of his own skin. He spins around so fast he doesn't realise the person who spoke was standing right behind him. He slams straight into them, tea spilling all over his own freshly ironed white shirt.

“Are you actually  _ kidding  _ me!” He groans loudly and stumbles backwards. He falls to his knees, soaking his trousers right through from the snow, and scrambles to get his bag. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” The person gasps.  
Louis ignores him. He notices from the corner of his eye that the boy drops to his knees too. He's just about to grab his empty cup of tea off the ground when a hand gets to it first. He's about to rip it out of his hand, throw it at his face and tell him to piss _ off _ , because now he's officially far too late to even show up to his lecture, but then he looks up, and today couldn't possibly get any worse. It's been the worst since he slept right through his alarm because his cat was securely asleep over his face. He woke up with a mouthful of hair, he's late, he has tea all over his white shirt and he didn't even bring a spare, and now, kneeling right in front of him is probably the most beautiful boy he has ever seen in his entire  __ life.  
Louis remembers the time when his mother rambled on for a good three hours about the importance of people's eyes. They were lying in bed watching crappy reality television; some baking show. The woman with bright red hair had just burnt the cake batter—as if you can actually  _ burn  _ cake batter. She mentioned that she was at Tesco's that day, when she came across a person with the kindest eyes she'd ever seen in her entire life. Louis didn't understand how someone could possibly have  __ kind  eyes, but right now, he thinks he might understand. The person kneeling in front of him, is half cringing at himself with his hands help in front of his chest. Louis' books are scattered in front of him. Staring at him, are massive green eyes that are blown completely wide with no hint of amusement etched on his face, just pure apology, and curls haloed around his head. Louis, for the life of him, can't remember how to be angry.  
Actually, he can't remember how to do anything at all. 

“I am so, so sorry!” The boy says again, hands flying down to the snow again and shoving Louis' books into his bag. Louis is frozen in his place. “God are you going to kill me? Please don't hit me,  _ shit _ . That happened last week and I didn't mean to startle you or anything, it's just … it's just … it's just you were talking to the shop and I thought it was funny and i— "   
Louis doesn't let him finish. On instinct, he's ripping the bag out of the boys hand and running down the street as fast as he can, leaving a very, very shocked boy on his knees, soaked through with snow. Louis nearly slips as he skids to a stop in front of the red glass box he came across the other week and he stares at it, hands pressed against the brick wall, panting. He takes a breath and then smashes the glass with his elbow. He stares at the rose for a second before he snatches it and races back down the street.  
The boy who he had run into is just peeling himself up from the pavement and Louis pauses a moment to catch his breath. He clutches the rose to his chest, inhales again, and steps towards the boy quietly. The boy wipes his hands on his trousers. Louis clears his throat behind him. The boy whips around with wide eyes. 

“Uhm,” Louis stutters, mouth opening and closing. The boy stares at him. He grunts and thrusts the rose into the boy's hand, “here.” He mumbles quietly and turns back around, ready to walk around as quickly as he possibly can—maybe he'll just go home. Maybe he'll wrap himself in his bed and cry. Maybe he'll make hot chocolate with thirty mini marshmallows in it and try and not think of pretty green eyes and too many curls.

“Wait!” A firm hand grabs his elbow and turns him back around. The boy is staring at him with a confused expression. “You gave me a rose?” Louis nods. “Why?” He shrugs. “You think i'm cute?” He looks down at his feet, bites his lip. God, he feels so exposed. Louis doesn't  _ do  _ exposed. He doesn't  _ do  _ romance. He hates romance. He has to gag himself whenever Zayn puts on titanic. “You gave me a rose.”  
The boy says again and Louis swallows, squints his eyes shut. Shit, what if he's straight? Louis didn't even  _ think _ . He waits for a second, waits for the blow of the punch. It doesn't come. He opens his eyes to see the boy smiling at him, openly grinning and it's as bright as the sun. 

“I'm Harry,” The boy says, lifting up the rose to sniff it. “This is beautiful.”

“Uh. Louis.”

“Louis?”

“My name. My name is Louis.”

“Louis.” Harry grins wider. Louis' heart nearly stops in his chest. Who cares about lectures anyway?

  
  


  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> and that's it that's the fic. My twitter is weyyeylarry and tomlinclique_ (please come talk to me i use tomlinclique_ a lot more so go there) xxxxxxxx


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